


The Dungeon Pt. 2: In the Heat of the Morning

by shewasagaystripper



Series: The Dungeon [2]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alright! so for the second part, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Cock Rings, Cold Showers, Comfort, Corporal Punishment, Crying, Flogging, M/M, Multi, Punishment, Punishment and Reward, Rewards, Sex Toys, Spanking, Sub!Freddie, Sub!Roger, The Dungeon, cold baths, especially Freddie and Brian are the Worst, ice cubes, none of John's slaves are listening, so here's to putting them back into their place, sub!Brian, top!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 09:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20190277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewasagaystripper/pseuds/shewasagaystripper
Summary: Brian has not quite gotten used to the extent of the BDSM scene he's landed himself into, and learns that disregarding his Master's direct orders is not the best idea he's ever had





	The Dungeon Pt. 2: In the Heat of the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, here we go, the second and much expected (at least I hope so) part of the Dungeon! It’s been a few months but I’ve got another 23.000 words of pure and unadulterated BDSM porn for the lot of you to enjoy, muehuehehehe >:D I had a lot of fun writing this - this part is a bit more emotional towards the end of it, but the main focus remains on John trying to control his three little shits that call themselves his slaves. Have fun reading!
> 
> Notes and warnings: This fic contains BDSM and BDSM-related themes. Although everything the characters engage in is played SSC (safe, sane, and consensual), it will include corporal punishment, rough sex, strong language, etc. Please continue only if you are willing to read such content.
> 
> This story can also be read on WattPad and A03, where you can find me under the same username (but without the hyphens in between --> just shewasagaystripper)
> 
> My thanks go out to @vampireluph for proofreading this fic!
> 
> Have fun!

Brian shifted around uncomfortably in his chair, prodding aimlessly into the bowl of cereal in front of him on the kitchen table. The pieces of oatmeal darted in front of his eyes, and he did not seem to get a grip on his eyesight now that his eyelids threatened to fall close every five seconds. Their latest Dungeon session had lasted all night, and he was honestly exhausted. Hours of being tied up and blindfolded, fearing the moment when he was going to be slapped again with either a belt, a rope, a whip, or whatever more John’s collection of BDSM-related items consisted of, had taken its toll on his level of energy, which was at an all-time low at the moment.

Out of the three hours their master had given them to recover from the session before they would dive into the bedroom again, Brian was perfectly aware he had already spent two by having dozed on the sofa. After having been snapped awake by Freddie inviting him to join him for breakfast, it had taken him another ten minutes to actually drag himself over to the kitchen and sit down, leaving only fifty minutes for him to pull himself together and prepare himself for another round of self-chosen torture. Just the thought of it made him yawn. He fought the tendency to close his eyes and doze off right there at the kitchen table, but he managed to resist the urge without too much trouble. He would not allow himself to fall asleep again and find himself being awoken with the announcement that they’d be heading back to the Dungeon in a minute.

More than all of this, though, Brian was positive he would not sleep even if he wanted to. No matter how tired he was, he could not sit still for more than a handful of seconds – which was a direct result of the things John had literally and figuratively pulled him through. It was uncomfortable, it was embarrassing, and Brian felt even more insecure about it when it turned out he had not managed to hide his discomfort from his fellow slave like he had intended to do.

‘Darling, can’t you sit still for just a few seconds?’ Freddie asked, and Brian looked up at him before glancing down again. Two bright brown eyes looked up at him, shining with energy and amusement, and Brian wondered how the hell Freddie did it. He was usually dead tired after a session in the Dungeon, regardless of whether it was thirty minutes in-between moment for John to quickly put his slaves into their desired place, or a full-blown hours lasting session that burned all of his energy. He seemed to be alone in this, though; Freddie somehow possessed the power of being whacked one minute and getting ready to run the Marathon the next. It was unfair, really, and Brian could only wish he would one day be able to build up a stamina like that.

‘Sorry,’ Brian mumbled. For a moment he considered giving some kind of explanation, or telling Freddie he would stop moving around so much. However, knowing that the first of these would be an embarrassment and the second would be a lie, he decided to keep his mouth shut and focus on his breakfast instead. He knew it really was better to eat something; one never knew how long a session would last, and heading into the Dungeon with an empty stomach was therefore not advisable. Brian scooped up some cornflakes with his spoon, brought it up to his mouth, but most of the contents the spoon when he switched his position on the chair again just before taking the food into his mouth. The tablecloth soaked up the milk he spilled, and Brian hoped no one would notice the quick movement with which he wiped the soggy cornflakes away from the table surface.

Tough luck.

‘Brian, if your butt still itches, all you have to do is give me the word and I’ll throw you over my lap. No problem at all,’ John offered lightly from the side, to which Brian blushed even more. John’s assumption that he was aching for punishment was not exactly the reason why he was restlessly moving around in his seat, but the bold proposal that followed it made his cock stir slightly - which was about the _last_ thing he needed in his current position.

‘No, thank you, Master,’ he whispered softly, cursing his body for betraying him like this. To prove that he really did not need a spanking to put him right, Brian brought up a new spoonful and swallowed it in one go. It tasted bland and unsavoury, and he pushed the bowl away slightly, hoping no one would notice and comment on it. Freddie especially had grown rather maternal over him now that he had joined the Dungeon not too long ago - always keeping an eye out to make sure he ate and drank and slept well - but Brian was not in the mood to be lectured about the dangers of skipping breakfast as it was. No one spoke up to lecture him indeed - just someone taking a leap to confiscate his abandoned cereals. 

‘Are you still gonna eat that?’

The unmistakable voice of Roger sounded through the kitchen, completing the quartet that made up both all the residents of the house and all participants to the Dungeon.

‘Ah, someone has recovered!’ Freddie welcomed him.

‘Enough to stand, that is,’ Roger sighed as he walked over to the table and halted next to Brian. ‘Are you going to eat that?’ he repeated his question. He was obviously prying on Brian’s food, and Brian knew it could hardly be because the skimmed milk and soggy cornflakes looked so appetising. Roger just typically emerged from the Dungeon in a state of tiredness and languor, relying on his friends to bring him food and drinks and whatever more he needed after he’d slept off his post-sex whirl. Today was no different, and since Roger was too lazy to prepare breakfast and Brian was too preoccupied to eat it, the guitarist decided that he might as well let his fellow slave have his way.

‘No, you can have it,’ he said as he shoved the bowl towards Roger, who accepted it gratefully and leant against the backrest of the last unoccupied kitchen chair as he dug into his meal. Brian was left to look at the people around him - Freddie and John, sitting next to each other and chatting easily about the upcoming release of a T-Rex album they’d been looking forward to ever since the dropping of _Hot Love_ as a single a few months prior, and Roger, who make a few comments on the soreness of his joints to no one in particular. It always amazed Brian how easy it was for everyone else to shift from the Dungeon-headspace towards the everyday life and friendships they shared. Brian typically required at least a few hours and multiple reminders that he could address John by his first name and that he did not have to kneel before his ‘superior’ whenever he entered the room. None of this seemed necessary for Freddie and Roger, who had no trouble patting John on the back and making teasing jokes towards the treatment they had received mere minutes ago. Brian supposed it was all part of having been in this scene for a few years instead of his mere months, and he told himself once again not to worry about it too much. He would get there in due time, too. He just needed to grow a bit more comfortable and confident over the upcoming-

‘Goodness, Brian, _please_!’ Freddie interrupted his conversation with John and put his spoon back into his yoghurt with a resounding _cling!._ ‘What is _wrong_ with you today? I’m starting to think that it wouldn’t be a bad idea for John to take you back to the bedroom. If not because you’re still incredibly horny, then to spank you until you won’t be able to move that bottom of yours any longer.’

Brian, who had not even noticed that he’d tossed around in his seat again, squeaked an awkward sorry as an apology, feeling his cheeks had grown red. Now feeling that he could no longer get away with simply apologising without indirectly addressing the cause of his incessant toying around, he said: ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I just can’t sit still today.’ It was a lie, because he knew exactly what was wrong with him; the reason why was just something he preferred not to share with the rest of them. Unfortunately for Brian, though, one glance at him was enough for Roger to deduct _precisely _what was bothering him.

‘Oh, but I think I know what’s wrong with him,’ Roger smiled devilishly. ‘I think our favourite little plaything hasn’t gotten used to being tortured by a cock ring and a butt plug outside of bedroom hours. Isn’t that true, Baby?’ he addressed Brian by his nickname nearly sweetly, but Brian was so embarrassed and overwhelmed by his sudden conclusions that he couldn’t do anything besides blushing and weakly shaking his head.

‘No, that’s not… I don’t think-’ he started off weakly, but was soon interrupted by the sound of the half-empty bowl of cereal being put before him on the table.

‘Let’s have a look,’ Roger said as he crept up behind Brian, reaching a hand over whose shoulder and shamelessly leaning in to rub it over his crotch. Brian shrieked in surprise, too shocked with Roger’s determination to be able to move away from his intruding fingers against his hardening groin. ‘Exactly what I thought; _someone_ isn’t quite satisfied yet,’ Roger grinned, and Brian wished he could disappear into thin air.

‘Not even after having been given the unbelievable favour of being allowed to come _twice_ last night?’ Freddie raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Brian, but then he flashed him a comforting wink when he saw that Brian was so uncomfortable he did not know where to look. Roger, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be done teasing him yet.

‘He’s still - or _again_, more like - hard as a rock,’ Roger commented, making Brian’s breath hitch in his throat when he palmed his erection through the thin fabric of his trousers.

‘Roger, stop,’ Brian whispered. He was perfectly aware that his voice was choked up with embarrassment and stress, and that he was therefore hardly audible. Luckily, John either beard him or saw his discomfort, for he was the one to come to his rescue.

‘Roger, settle down!’ John ordered, this time not with the usual unrelenting authority, but with a touch of a badly oppressed amusement in his voice. ‘Leave the poor lad alone, will you?’

‘I don’t wish to talk back, Master, but I don’t think Brian wishes to be left alone at this point,’ Roger answered.

‘Taylor, sit down, _now_.’ John failed not to chuckle as he nodded at the chair reserved for Roger. The drummer muttered something inaudible about being right regardless of what John said, but he was silenced quickly when John snapped his fingers and pointed at the chair, on which he sat down with a distorted expression on his face as his painful backside came in touch with the sitting area. In the meantime, Freddie had diverted his attention from his yoghurt to the more than distressed looking guitarist, who looked at him with wide-opened and nearly afraid eyes.

‘Brian, dear, it’s fine. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s nothing more than natural for your body to react this way,’ Freddie said, placing his hand over Brian’s. ‘I know it feels awkward now, but believe me, you’ll get used to it to the point where it will eventually feel natural.’

Awkward felt like the understatement of the century to Brian, who at the moment was caught up with sheer humiliation as he was turned on by sex toys and at the same time was restricted by items of the same category that were supposed to hold off one’s orgasm. He knew Freddie and Roger did this just about all the time, and especially outside of the bedroom, but it was one of his first times ever taking the Dungeon outside of the Dungeon, as a matter of speaking. More than that, Freddie and Roger were so used to wearing their gear in everyday life and even in public that they never seemed disturbed and distracted by it in the slightest, while Brian had the hardest time simply staying in his chair without squirming about like an eel trying to escape from a fisherman’s grip.

‘It doesn’t feel very natural,’ Brian mumbled in response, deciding to leave all of these thoughts to himself in order not to come on like even more of a rookie.

Unfortunately, this still did not prevent Roger from commenting: ‘Isn’t he cute?’

‘Roger, come on, lay it off,’ John told him.

‘But John, he’s so innocent!’ Roger protested to his superior. ‘He’s still in that very first state where just a cock ring can get him hard,’ he said, and Brian wasn’t sure if he actually thought it was somehow cute or if he was just straight up making fun of his inexperience. ‘Seriously though, I’m sure that just one drag of my tongue could finish him off right now.’ One glance at Brian’s scarlet cheeks was enough for John to make sure Roger would pay for these hopelessly inappropriate comments.

‘Oh, you insufferable – over the table, right now,’ John ordered as he stood up, the legs of his chair scratching over the white tiled kitchen floor. He was immediately followed by Roger, who didn’t even blink before obeying, which confirmed Brian’s suspicions that he had been wanting to provoke John into punishing him. As he unloosened the belt Brian had come to believe served as an item of punishment more than the purpose it had been designed form, John added: ‘If you think it’s okay to embarrass Brian, I think it’s about time I let you feel what it’s like to be embarrassed.’

‘I’d wish you good luck with that, Master,’ Freddie said to John as he stood up and brought his empty bowl of yoghurt over to the sink. ‘Recent Dungeon sessions have led me to believe he knows of no shame whatsoever.’

‘And that’s you talking, with your I-can’t-come-unless-you-put-a-spiked-dildo-up-my-ass-complex,’ Roger taunted him, but Freddie had his reply ready.

‘Roger, you were _begging_ for a bigger dildo this morning. Your argument is invalid.’

Brian, totally uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was going - and being afraid that seeing his fellow slave getting taught a lesson over the kitchen table might not do much to ease his painfully hard erection - stood up from his chair. Feeling both Freddie’s and John’s eyes turning to his direction, he explained: ‘I’m… I have to go to the bathroom.’

‘No touching yourself,’ John ordered - as if Brian would have dared to ever do so without his master’s explicit permission.

‘No, Master,’ Brian squeaked. Eyes still cast downwards as to avoid the view of Roger now sprawled out all over the kitschy flower patterned tablecloth they’d been given as a hand-me-down from God knew whose aunt, he skipped out of the kitchen and into the hallway. It was only when he had locked the bathroom door behind him and was left with no one else but his own blushing face in the mirror that he dared to breathe again.

Looking back at it all, Brian had no idea what had come over him. It must have been a mixture of Roger’s teasing and the overall tension and John’s ever-lasting rigidity that crawled up on him even outside of Dungeon hours which had gotten him in this state of restless awkwardness. He continued to be mildly uncomfortable with explicit talk of sex and similar topics (which he knew was ironic for someone who had willingly joined and actively participated in a BDSM dungeon) but he could usually deal well enough. He was growing used to the tricks and the jargon of his newly found hobby when it was used in the midst of actions; but not so much when it was used or casually talked about over breakfast, as today’s events proved once again. Especially Roger having addressed his discomfort with the cock ring and butt plug John had made him wear outside of Dungeon hours for the second time today had not sat very well with Brian, and he had really needed a break from it all when John had called Roger over for public punishment as a result of it. He was still trying to recover from the previous session, and trying to mentally prepare him for the one coming up in less than an hour; witnessing Roger getting flogged for having pointed out how hard he’d been was about the _last_ thing Brian needed as it was.

Brian was awoken from his thoughts by the sound of a single finger joint knocking delicately against the bathroom door. He didn’t even need to hear the voice or the words to know who it was, even though it did help him be absolutely sure about the visitor’s identity.

‘Darling, are you in there? Can you let me in?’

Brian turned away from the mirror and cautiously unlocked the door, which was then pulled open to reveal Freddie. Standing there with uncombed hair, bare feet with black tipped toenails, wearing nothing but a satin morning robe that revealed too much of his naked chest to qualify as decent, he looked only a little less debauched than he had done when mere hours ago he had thrown his head back in pain and pleasure as John had left him on edge with the help of a squirt of a devilishly stinging lube variation from the latest _Durex Intense_ collection. The mere memory of this made Brian’s cock give somewhat of a stir, and he cursed himself for being so inexperienced and sensitive as he was left face to face with an experienced BDSM participant.

‘Can I come in?’ Freddie asked once more just to be sure, obviously noticing Brian’s awkwardness.

‘Sure,’ Brian answered as Freddie walked past him, and he felt at his still burning cheeks to establish that he must still look like a blushing schoolgirl. Exactly what he needed.

Freddie, not the one to beat around the bush, asked: ‘Are you okay?’

‘Aha,’ Brian agreed, but he could hear himself that it sounded a bit off-ish, and it came as no surprise to him that his friend wasn’t buying it.

‘You’re all red,’ Freddie remarked with a hint of concern or perhaps even pity, and before Brian could cover his cheeks with his hands to distract the view of them from his fellow slave, Freddie reached into the bathroom cabinet for a washcloth, and hummed an unfittingly optimistic tune while he soaked it in water and then wrung it out. Brian watched Freddie’s quick fingers working on the rolled up piece of fabric, and an image of those very same fingers having been wrapped around his cock at Master John’s command earlier that day popped up in his head, which only made him feel more awkward when Freddie reached the item towards him in an act of perfect innocence.

‘Here, take a cold washcloth,’ Freddie offered, and when Brian did not make any move to take the washcloth from him, Freddie stepped forwards and pressed it in Brian’s hand. Brian was still too overcome with insecurity and awkwardness concerning the topic of what to do, what to say, that he just stood there, washcloth still in hand, gazing at Freddie with what was without a doubt a dumb expression on his face.

‘It’s for your face, darling,’ Freddie smiled with a black-tipped finger nail that pointed at his own cheek, and Brian, without losing eye contact with Freddie, brought the cloth up to his face and rubbed it across his right cheek as if he needed approval from his companion that he was doing the right thing. He realised how pathetic he must be looking at that exact moment, but he could not help himself. It was as if he’d lost all sense of bodily autonomy and how to use it to perform movement. He did not know whether he should see it as a relief or even more of an embarrassment when Freddie took back the washcloth and, with his left hand on his chin to steady him, started soothing the blush on his skin.

There was silence for a bit - no sound apart from the one occasion on which Freddie turned away to put the washcloth under the tap again for renewed freshness - until Freddie eventually spoke of the elephant in the room.

‘Roger doesn’t mean it like that,’ Freddie told him softly. Brian swallowed a bit painfully at being reminded of the debacle at breakfast, but, knowing Freddie was right, he nodded anyway.

‘I know.’

‘He’s just trying to have a laugh and poke fun at things - you know him. But if his teasing really becomes too much, tell John. He’ll slap it right out of Roger,’ Freddie said in an attempt to comfort Brian, who looked hesitant to the idea of this. He didn’t want to tell on Roger, or appear even more vulnerable and oversensitive than he felt he was already coming across as it was, and Freddie seemed to sense his reservation. ‘Don’t hesitate to tell John, darling. You know he would not allow _anyone_ to make someone else feel insecure or unsafe in his Dungeon.’

‘I know,’ Brian repeated - which was a lame answer, but it was all he could manage at the time being. He knew that Roger would never intend to hurt him or make him feel insecure about his status as ‘the newcomer’ in the Dungeon the rest of them had engaged in for a couple of years before he joined. More than that, John indeed would never let this behaviour fly; he had already given Roger punishment for embarrassing Brian without the victim even having to say the word, so it was guaranteed that Roger would be in for some serious ass whipping if Brian revealed to John how he felt. The only thing was that Brian did not feel like telling on him; he knew that Roger had been joking only, and if the drummer would really push his limits in the future, he preferred having a talk under four eyes rather than having their supervisor whip Roger back into shape (which, to be fair, might even be seen as a reward rather than a punishment to him). 

Brian had obviously drifted off into his own world again, because when he snapped back into the present, the washcloth had been discarded to the sink and Freddie was flashing him a crooked smile which Brian knew from experience meant bad news.

‘Now that we’ve got that over with, I’ll admit that I’m rather curious to see if Roger was right.’

Brian frowned, having no idea what he talked about. ‘About what?’

The crooked smile was now a mischievous grin. ‘Finishing you off with one drag of the tongue.’

This was one of these moments in movies in which the protagonist, to whom such a bold statement was disclosed, would spit out the sip of chamomile tea he’d just taken from a fancy china cup. The only difference was that this was not a movie, there was no expensive pottery for Brian to spit a sip of tea into, and most of all, there was no director say _‘cut!’_ to tell the actors the scene had been performed either according to plan, or had flopped and needed to be done over. This was real - and not something Brian could snap out of with a single movement to the director.

‘I’m not sure what you…’ Brian started, but his voice trailed off when Freddie stepped closer to him and put a finger across his lips to gesture that he had to be silent. Brian felt Freddie’s hands around his waist, and before he knew it he was relocated to the other side of the bathroom, where his back now bumped into the porcelain sink. His mind was blurry and his limbs felt heavy, and it was only when one of Freddie’s hands was removed from its place on his waist and relocated itself to the button of his trousers that Brian understood his intentions fully.

‘Freddie! What do you think you’re doing?’ he asked, even though he had already painted a fairly accurate picture of what the singer was planning to do with him now that the button of his trousers was loosened and his zipper was dragged down.

‘Just what I think you need most at this moment,’ Freddie answered with an air of nonchalance, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to defy one’s master and take matters into one’s own hands. Brian, on the other hand, was not at all sure that this was a good idea.

‘Freddie!’ Brian hissed. ‘What if Master John finds out?’

Freddie just grinned. ‘If that’s your only concern…’

Brian, wishing to tell Freddie that he had multiple objections but really not being able to come up with any more than John disapproving of Freddie touching him now that his dick was straining against the restrictive material of his underwear and trousers, told Freddie just this one objection. ‘You’re not allowed to touch me.’

This did not seem to bother Freddie all too much. ‘Master only said Roger couldn’t touch you. He didn’t say anything about me.’ Even though they both knew that this was _not_ how things worked in the Dungeon, Freddie delivered this response with a certain edge of touché, and used the seconds of silence that followed to wriggle his hands between the fabric of Brian’s trousers and his underwear, pulling down the dark blue velvet skilfully. Brian did not dare glance down to look at his lower body half, and nor did he need to. He knew all too well that his cock had hardened to the extent where it was obvious to everyone around him to tell he could do with some relief, thank you very much. If it hadn’t been for Master John keeping an eye on them, plus the moral obligation of not being allowed any sexual relief without John’s explicit permission for it, he would have begged Freddie to do something, to please touch him or take him in his mouth or do whatever else he could do to please help him relieve the nagging pressure of his cock. The fact of the matter however was that John was a mere two walls away from them, and Brian knew they’d be punished severely if they would so much as dare touch each other in his absence. 

‘Freddie-’ Brian tried again, but he could hear in his own voice that his resistance was weakening. Freddie must have heard this, too, for all he did was give his cheek a loving stroke which Brian assumed was meant to be a form of comfort, before his hand wandered off to the waistband of his boxers again.

‘Come on, darling. You’re new here, you’re under so much pressure… Let me just take the edge off.’ Freddie’s voice was soft and smooth and Brian had to look away in order not to drown in those beautifully convincing eyes, eyes that silently encouraged him to let him do what he did best - give head like no one else could. The offer could not have come at a moment that was both more convenient and inconvenient, because as Brian’s cock swelled at the mere touch of Freddie’s hands on the upper side of his boxers, so did his resistance weaken. Maybe Freddie could just quickly help him out, just a few drags of his tongue against Brian’s oversensitive prick would be enough to set him off and clear his mind again-

No. No, he could not think like that. Master John expected perfect obedience at all times, and the fact that he was not around to guard his thee slaves twenty-four seven did not give them a ticket to do whatever the hell they felt like.

Still, the mere thought of Freddie’s tongue dragging its way down his dick now that he needed it most…

‘But John…’ Brian whimpered. No matter how much he wanted it, the prospect of being found out and going over John’s lap for a hundred strikes with the leather belt was not appealing at _all_. And not just the physical part of punishment; Brian could picture the look of disappointment he knew for a fact John would give them if they were to stray from his rules, and that was something he could deal with even less than getting his bottom smacked an ungodly amount of times.

Freddie, however, did not seem to share any of these concerns with him; and if he did, he did not show it. In fact, he seemed quite confident as he lowered Brian’s boxers until his erect cock sprung free. ‘John won’t find out as long as you’re quiet,’ he said in a tone that was not merely secretive but which bordered on wickedness. Brian would take heed against it had it not been such a relief to finally have his dick be released from its confinements; and if Freddie pushing him up against the sink until his back was digging into the cold porcelain surface hadn’t been one of the hottest things that could have been done to him in this state. His resistance had dropped to a minimum, and both Freddie and he knew that he needed just the smallest of pushes to be dragged into the plan his fellow slave had given him the leading role for. Figuratively, that was - for there was little Brian was in charge of now that he was naked from the waist down and entirely at Freddie’s mercy.

‘I shouldn’t be doing this,’ Brian said, more to himself than to Freddie, who knew he had won him over the second Brian spoke those words.

‘Hush now. Hands on my shoulders or on the sink or whatever you like best to steady you. Let me do the work,’ Freddie told him. Then, without further ado, Freddie carefully lowered himself until he was kneeling on the floor before Brian, one hand on his upper left thigh and the other on the back of his right knee, and so he settled to drag a long, wet line all the way from the tip to the root of Brian’s hard cock.

Brian choked out a sound that was a mixture of pleasure and surprise - the mere touch of Freddie’s tongue was unsettlingly good, especially in his current position. He had not expected the singer to use his tongue on him all this soon, without giving him some touches of the hand or nuzzling up to him first, even though he soon after realised that this should not come to a surprise to him at all. After all, Freddie had expressed a wish of finding out how many licks it would take to set Brian off, to see if Roger’s assumption had been right; and to find this out, he could not ‘cheat’ by giving him some handiwork first. As, however, it soon became clear that one drag would not quite cut it regardless of how hard and desperate Brian was, the tongue returned, this time licking a deliciously slow and wet line all the way down to Brian’s groin. The guitarist was left to helplessly claw at the shoulders of the man whose tongue was currently buried somewhere deep in his pubic hair.

‘Freddie…’ Brian sighed, and Freddie shortly looked up to flash him a wink and a finger crossed over smiling lips. The mischief displayed in his eyes was the hottest sight Brian had seen in a long time.

Freddie drew back his head shortly, repositioned himself and took a tighter grip on Brian’s lower body, after which he delivered a few breaths of hot air and a third stroke of his tongue. This time it was sloppy and wet and so, so hot that Brian could no longer keep his hips still. He thrust forward into the glorious feeling of Freddie’s tongue as much as he could now that Freddie was restricting his legs with both hands. A bit of a whine escaped Brian, who felt his cheeks - which had just started to cool down - turn crimson again at the sensations Freddie was delivering to his badly neglected cock. It was so good and it was too much and yet it was not enough - by _far_ not enough. Never could be enough until the very moment he would be able to let go and feel sweet, sweet relief wash over him.

‘What is it? You need more?’ Freddie pulled away to ask him.

‘Yessss,’ Brian hissed, eyes pressed close. ‘Please, Freddie, I’m- I’m almost there.’

‘I’ll give it to you, but only if you’re quiet,’ Freddie whispered. ‘Promise you’ll be quiet?’

_Yes, yes I will, I’ll do anything you ask, I’d stand on my head and sing the bloody national anthem for just one more drag at this point,_ Brian wanted to blabber out incoherently. However, afraid his voice might crack, he simply nodded furiously at the person on his knees in front of him.

Freddie huffed out a laugh. ‘Well, I’m not Master John, so I’ll take that for an answer,’ Freddie winked - obviously referring to the fact that any answers in the Dungeon that were not explicitly spoken with two words did not count as such and were usually punished with a resounding _smack!_ against a thigh bone or a buttock - before he got back to business.

And by business, Freddie really seemed to mean _business_. No slow drags of the tongue and hot breath this time around; Freddie pulled Brian closer and delivered multiple quick, warm licks to that certain patch on the underside of Brian’s cock that made him see stars. He would have cried out in pleasure and encouragement if he had been in a position where this would be both desirable and safe, but as it was, all he could do was dig his fingers a little deeper into Freddie’s shoulder - silently wishing Master John would not notice the marks when they’d head back into the Dungeon before too long - and concentrating on his breathing, which had grown ragged and irregular over time. So ragged and irregular, as a matter of fact, that he for one did not hear the footsteps in the hallway until it was already too late.

‘Freddie, are you in there? Is Brian okay?’

There was a mere millisecond between this question from John’s side to the moment when the door was opened - the most prolific millisecond Brian had ever experienced in his life. His mouth opened in shock and he looked at Freddie for help now that he sure as hell had no idea what to do. He found himself wondering shortly whether it would be possible to cut this off before the opening of the door would lay bare their actions to their master, even though deep inside he knew it was too late. It therefore seemed best to him to bring this to a halt and get on their knees to show their repentance for what it was worth now that John would inevitably walk in on him getting sucked off by Freddie during a bathroom getaway.

Freddie, however, seemed to have other ideas. Under what seemed to Brian to be a credo of ‘might-as-well-pull-though-with-this-now-that-we’ll-be-punished-anyway’, Freddie’s eyes met his shortly with the boldest expression imaginable, and he hardly took the time to take in a decent gulp of air before he went down on Brian fully, swallowing him whole in all but one go. Brian shrieked in helplessness, unable to move a single muscle, and therefore it was the image of Freddie on his knees with Brian all the way down his throat that their superior walked in on.

‘Freddie-’ Brian whimpered in a useless but instinctive attempt to warn Freddie for the person who had just intruded the privacy of the bathroom; the dark eyes that looked at him with disbelief more than anything. Brian could not look back at John - and not even for the obvious reason of shame and humiliation, but for the fact that he had a hard time keeping his eyes open now that release was so close upon him that he could almost feel it. The throbbing sensation of his cock, the heat coiling in his lower belly, the ongoing onslaught of Freddie using not only his lips and tongue by now but also his teeth to deliver maximum pleasure - it was all too much for Brian, who emptied himself out in Freddie’s mouth with a pent-up shriek that was followed by a series of low groans as Freddie sucked him through the waves of his orgasm. Brian was aware that John was standing in the doorway all throughout the forbidden scene; that he stood there, arms crossed over each other, watching intently with the darkest glance he had ever beheld in his master’s eyes.

Oh, Lord. John was _not_ going to take this lightly.

John’s voice, when he eventually did speak, told it all. ‘Bulsara. Get up,’ he said in a quiet yet demanding demeanour, a snap of the fingers accompanying the order to give it a little more power than it had already by the mere fact that it was an order given by their superior. Brian could tell that it was serious not just by the tone of the voice but mainly by the use of Freddie’s last name - his official last name, on top of that - which was something John only did if they really, _really_ fucked up.

Freddie, understanding the severity of the situation, did not play around this time. He pulled Brian’s underwear back into place as much as possible before he rose to his feet quickly, and turned to face John’s direction with an obedient _yes, Master_ as if he had nothing to be afraid of. As if he had done nothing that could possibly be demanding an apology - even though the evidence of his disobedience (read: a half stripped-down Brian currently trying to catch his breath after the mind-blowing orgasm he had brought upon him) was staring John right in the face. John simply regarded him with that same dark expression which he had born on his face while he had looked at Brian moments earlier. Freddie did not seem to budge, however, and in the middle of the tensed silence Brian could no longer keep silent.

In an attempt to produce an explanation or apology of some sort, Brian stuttered: ‘I didn’t-he didn’t-‘

‘You might as well be quiet, May, because I don’t think there are _any_ excuses to be made for this sort of behaviour,’ John said quietly but with a sternness that drained all the remaining colour of Brian’s face. It was almost funny how one could go from beet red to white as a sheet in all but a matter of mere moments - save for the fact that there was nothing funny about the scolding Brian knew they were in for.

‘Get over here. Both of you.’

Brian did as John said instantly, moving two steps closer to his master until he was standing in front of him. He was all too aware of his state of undress, but in the heat of the moment, he dared not button himself up again without John’s explicit permission. Freddie leisurely followed him, and Brian could swear he saw him wipe his mouth with the sleeve of his robe from the corners of his eyes.

John just stared them down for a few seconds or so, his mouth a taut and displeased line. ‘So this is why you went to the bathroom, then, Brian? To have Freddie suck you off?’

‘I did not know he-’ Brian started, but he was silenced when John held up his hand in a motion that indicated for him to stop.

‘You don’t talk to me until I tell you to,’ John reproved him, and Brian cast his eyes down. His instinct was to reply with an obedient _‘yes, Master,’_ but out of fear that this would constitute talking out of turn for the second time in a row, he kept his mouth shut. ‘So you went to the bathroom, had Freddie follow you up, and let him suck you off all behind my back? Despite having been allowed to come _twice_ during the last session, Brian?’

Brian felt his cheeks burning at the repetition of the point that Freddie had previously made while still seated at the kitchen table. It was true that he had already been given more than both of his fellow slaves during the last session, and it was therefore completely ridiculous that he had been in need to get his kicks yet again in such a short period of time. He cursed his body once again for being so out of control, and wished he had enough self-control to not come around as a horny teenager in the presence of experienced BDSM participants.

‘Well?’ John asked somewhat impatiently. Brian had been too busy contemplating his personal awkwardness and self-discipline to come up with an answer. He didn’t know if he had to be relieved or concerned when Freddie decided to answer the question for him.

‘To be fair, Master, I was to blame. Brian did not know anything of what-’

‘What the hell did I just say about speaking out of turn?’ John snapped at Freddie, who closed his lips tightly. Brian could tell that he was brooding on a response that would be cheeky but not enough so to not be able to sit for the upcoming two weeks.

‘You only addressed Brian in that matter, Master,’ Freddie broke the silence. Brian could swear he saw liquid fire in John’s eyes at this attempt at smart-mouthing, and he knew they were in for quite a round of punishment.

‘You know what- I don’t even _care_ whose idea this was, or who started it. The fact of the matter is that I walked in on one of my slaves going down on the other behind _my_ back, against _all_ rules and regulations, and the both of you will fucking _pay_. Come here,’ John said, and Brian felt his master’s iron grip enclosing itself around his wrist. Freddie was grabbed by the right lower arm, and they were tugged out of the bathroom by a clearly disgruntled John, who pulled them right towards the master bedroom which functioned as their Dungeon. Brian knew he should have expected this, that they wouldn’t get away with this with a mere handful of spanks over John’s lap in the living room, and yet he was slightly taken aback when John momentarily let go of his wrist to tear open the door to the Dungeon. His wrist was then grabbed again, he was dragged into the room, and let go of together with Freddie once they were inside. The door was slammed shut and John dug in the back pocket of his jeans. He produced a key and turned away from his slaves to lock the door, the clinking of the key against the lock showing the miscoordination caused by pure anger, frustration, or whatever it was John felt with their latest tricks. Brian could feel his heart pounding in his chest - even more so when John turned around to look at his slaves. A moment of silence followed while he drank in the sight of his two perfectly guilty slaves.

‘Bambi. Baby,’ John addressed them slowly, and Brian has a feeling John’s eyes linger on him a tad longer than on Freddie. ‘This is all _extremely_ disappointing. You sneak behind my back while I punish Blondie, and think that just because he’s being disobedient, I won’t keep an eye out for you? Won’t notice that you’re trying to deceive me? That I won’t put one and one together when you both leave to go to the bathroom? The oldest trick in the book?’ The questions they were posed were rhetorical as could be, and did not fail to make Brian blush again. It had been stupid, so incredibly _stupid_ to allow Freddie to go down on him whilst John had been busy disciplining their fellow slave. John noticed everything, be it in the studio or in composing or in their private lives in the Dungeon. Nothing could escape his senses, and his judgement was always ready for either praise or reproof. Brian felt overcome with shame that his horniness and wishful thinking had gotten him into this embarrassing position where John would punish them not as part of a spicy BDSM session, but to teach them right after having broken multiple of the most elementary rules. He felt so ashamed for his stupidity that he could cry.

In an attempt to hide the tears welling up behind his eyes, Brian cast his eyes down and got on his knees on the floor, holding up his hands with the palms turned upwards. He knew punishment would be doled out soon anyway, and it might be best to willingly accept it without any more delay, which might turn his master even more aggravated with their behaviour.

Unfortunately for Brian - who hoped he might be able to keep his tears to himself in the humble position he had placed himself in - John shook his head at him.

‘No, get up. I want you on your front on the bed for this. _Both_ of you,’ John said with a nod at Freddie, just in case the other man might think that this order did not apply to him for whatever reason. Brian cast up his eyes at Freddie, who, sensing that he was being looked at, looked back at him. While Brian knew for a fact that a trace of panic could be read from his eyes, Freddie’s glance was one of calm, comfort - the silent promise that all would be alright even now that they were about to receive the punishment of a lifetime. And Brian knew it would be; their master would never push them past their hard limits, and even in punishment, the safe word still applied. If things really got too much for him, Brian knew that he just had to say the word and all would come to a halt.

Freddie made a small nod towards Brian in a wordless form of encouragement to get up, and Brian pushed himself up from the floor. Freddie was the first to turn around and quite effortlessly sprawl himself across the bed with no visible discomfort, but Brian was not so quick to follow. He felt his legs wobbling beneath him as he spun around to face the double bed, which now, with its dark silk sheets and iron framework in each corner to which manacles had been permanently attached, looked nearly not as inviting to lay down on now as it had done when he’d gotten down on it for Roger to lick him open during the previous session. The soft mattress and black covers were suddenly not a dream of luxury but a nightmare of which Brian knew he could not escape the second he’d lay down on it.

The sound of a somewhat irritated sigh behind him brought Brian back to the present. ‘Brian, my patience is wearing thin. Either you lie down on your own account, or I‘ll put you there. You won’t like that much.’

Brian, understanding that John was not playing jokes and would not be delayed any longer by two slaves who had already proven to be disobedient as could be, shakily put one knee on the bed. The mattress gave in to the weight of it slightly, and he pulled up his second leg on the bed also. Leaning over on his hands, he crawled further down the mattress, until about halfway down he sunk to his elbows and copied Freddie’s example of laying down flat on the bed. His feet dangled over the edge of the mattress, which in its breadth was not as wide as Brian would have expected. He felt too large yet incredibly small in this position with his chin against the mattress and his eyes on the brick wall in front of him, unable to see what either Freddie or John were doing.

What he could do, however, was listen to the sound of John’s footsteps on the hard wooden floor of the Dungeon. The unmistakable clatter of his platform heels - which Brian assumed he’d slipped into a moment ago, for he had not been wearing them as he had stealth down the hallway to burst in on Freddie and him in the bathroom - was the only sound to break the perfect silence of the room, in which neither he nor Freddie dared to breathe out loud by now.

‘So then,’ John said when his steps had halted right in front of the bed. Brian could see his superior’s thin, jeans-clad legs, but he did not dare peer up at John’s face for the time being, and resolved not to do so unless he was given explicit orders to do so. ‘You two are putting me in quite the spot. In all of those years I’ve participated in BDSM, I’ve never, _ever_ witnessed two slaves escaping to blow each other in a nearby room,’ John said with a voice one could describe as impressed if one happened to stumble into the Dungeon at the exact moment of speaking, without having any background knowledge of what had gone on prior to this comment. Brian and Freddie however sure as hell knew John was all but impressed by their actions.

‘This means that there’s hardly a precedent that could guide me to pick a proper punishment for the pair of you. Sneaking off, sex without my permission, disrupting me while punishing another slave, collaborating against me, making sure to finish off even when you’ve already been caught… Those are some heavy charges, guys. Some _very_ heavy charges.’

Brian had to bite down his bottom lip in order to keep up whatever remained of his composure when the charges they were facing, as it were, were laid out before him. Sure, he had known all along that letting Freddie give him head had not been the best idea he’d ever engaged in - and if he had been Freddie, he would have let go the second John walked in on him instead of taking his victim down his throat completely to complete his crime. But it had not occurred to him that by doing all of this, they had disrupted John from the sentence he had been carrying out against Roger, and that they had collaborated against John. It was worse than he could have imagined, and he trembled in fear when he saw from the corners of his eyes that their master crouched down before them.

‘Remember when somewhere in the beginning, two years ago or so, Roger jerked himself off during a toilet break? Thought I wouldn’t notice if he rubbed himself up again?’ John asked Freddie, whose hair he threaded his fingers through. Brian saw Freddie shudder under the touch.

‘Yes, Master,’ Freddie replied.

‘What happened to him, Bambi?’

‘He was- was found out, Master,’ Freddie swallowed painfully.

‘And then what, Bambi? How was he punished?’

Freddie thought for a second, and his voice was small when he responded. ‘He was- strapped to the whipping bench and flogged with a riding crop and a cat o’nine tails, Master.’

‘Hm-hmm, that’s correct,’ John hummed, and the quiet suspense of his voice made Brian queasy. ‘Do you remember how often?’

‘I think- I think seventy times with either item, Master.’

‘Almost. Seventy-five times with either item. And that was just for pleasuring himself in my absence. No disruption, sneaking off, or collaborating there,’ John said. ‘A hundred and fifty slaps for getting himself off. He was a mess after strike number eighty or so, begging and sobbing and trying to trash around. Where do you think that leaves Brian and you?’

Freddie coughed softly. ‘In a… a very painful punishment session, Master.’

John chuckled. ‘You bet you will be. The only thing is - I only have one spanking bench, and as Brian is a bit too new for that anyway, I’ll let you take your punishment on the bed for just this time.’

Brian felt a wave of relief flowing through his body; no matter how uncomfortable he was now that he had been thrown onto the double bed for what he expected would turn out to be the spanking of a lifetime, it sure was a lot better to receive it with your face down in a soft mattress than wood or leather or whatever material with absolutely no give that John possibly could have tied them to in order to receive their sentence.

‘Thank you, Master,’ Freddie said, and Brian followed his example. John, however, gave a rough pull at Freddie’s hair before he stood up and circled around the bed.

‘Don’t thank me just yet, because I will not be lenient about anything else. You’ll both get flogged senseless, and I’ll have you in a chastity belt for a week after this. No kicks for either of you,’ he said sternly, and Brian was unsure what to think of the small twitch his cock gave at these sternly spoken words. ‘You’ll be naked in private the entire time, won’t use furniture, and sleep on the ground. And this is _not_ a definite sentence,’ John closed off his monologue, leaving open the option of more elements that could and most likely _would_ be added to the punishment.

‘Yes, Master,’ Freddie and Brian agreed in unison. They were met not by the voice of their bandmate but the sound of the wardrobe that served as John’s inventory closet being opened. Silence again for a bit while multiple items of torture slipped through their master’s hand, until the door was eventually shut again and the clicking of platform heels was audible.

‘You, Bambi. You are going to get the hairbrush,’ John said, and Brian sucked in a sharp breath. Although he had only been given three tentative slaps with the hard wooden hairbrush so far, purely to let him know what it felt like after a sentence of Roger’s had sparked his curiosity, this had been enough for him to establish that he would never willingly take that item against his bottom again. The sting of it was tremendous, and the burn it left behind could last for days - and that was only the impact from three slaps. He couldn’t imagine how bad it must be to receive an entire sentence with it. 

It was therefore with mild relief that Brian took in John’s ordain for him, which was that he would be getting the paddle instead of the brush, which John apparently thought he was not ready for. He had indeed not served for much longer than a few months, and there was many an activity or form of punishment that he was either slowly being eased into at this point in time, or which was being kept from him completely for the time being. He was happy to hear that the hairbrush was part of the no-go tools for him for now, but his initial relief faded quickly when he realised that the paddle John was most likely to pick out for him would be the most brutal one he owned. It was a broad, thick, rectangular paddle, made of solid mahogany. More than that, unlike most of the other paddles of his master’s collection, this one came not with flattened sides but with pointy ones, and devilishly sharp edges all around. Edges which you definitely did not want against the lower curve of your bottom, but which Brian feared he would be dealing with before too soon.

‘Well then,’ John said, and a soft clunk against the surface of the desk behind the bed told Brian that John had put the items down for the time being. ‘Let’s first get you two properly settled for this. Starting with Baby.’

Before Brian could think of what this would mean or how it would be accomplished, he felt the strong grip of a hand gripping a hold of the waistband of his trousers, and John yanked him nearer to the edge of the bed with more power than Brian could have imagined. He let out a yelp of surprise at the unexpected action, and, too afraid to resist, he let his body be pulled down, feeling both tensed and completely boneless at the same time.

‘Get these off first,’ John said, more to himself than to anyone else. Brian felt his trousers, which had remained unbuttoned ever since Freddie had sucked him off, practically being ripped down his thighs. He silently prayed that his boxers would be allowed to stay up, but no such luck - they were torn down in one swift pull before this hope could even settle in his mind. This left Brian, for the second time in less than ten minutes, naked from the waist down. He felt a blush creeping up his cheeks again, and buried his face in the mattress below him.

‘Hands on your back, Baby,’ John ordered, and Brian shakily brought his arms up to the place they had been ordered to rest. He crossed his arms over each other at the height of the wrist, as he knew John usually wanted his slaves to, and felt the mattress giving away when John leant on it to get closer to him. Soft, silken material was wrapped around his wrist - once, twice, thrice, and a couple more times after that, after which a tight knot bound the fabric in place. It was tight and uncomfortable, but not dangerously so; he felt John fitting two fingers below the strip of fabric, which signified that there was room enough for the blood circulation to continue as normal yet not enough for Brian to escape even a single millimetre.

The presence on the mattress then disappeared, and Brian heard he soft, rustling sound of Freddie’s morning robe being ripped - quite literally - off his body. No sound of underwear being removed followed, which did not much surprise Brian. Freddie had absolutely no trouble going commando, and he doubted if the singer would have much trouble with John’s judgement that they would have to walk around naked for the upcoming week. Brian himself was not so sure about this yet, but little time did he get to think about it when he was distracted by the command John barked at Freddie to put his hands behind his back. A strip of silk was likewise secured around Freddie’s wrists to make sure he had no use of his hands either, after which John got up from the bed. Standing behind them, Brian could almost feel his judgemental eyes run over their naked, captive bodies, and he tried to bury his face his a little deeper into the sheets below him.

‘We’ll start with Brian,’ John announced. ‘You’re getting the wooden paddle with the heart-shape. You can writhe around all you want, because God knows you’ll want to do so after a dozen or so strikes with this,’ John said, and Brian heard the clattering sound of the mahogany implement falling in the palm of his master’s hand, the mere sound of which made him shiver. ‘You can scream and cry and beg, but I won’t stop unless you use the safe word. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, Master. But just-’ Brian said, and then cut himself off. There was one element of the punishment he had not quite understood yet, but the last thing he wanted to do was ask a question that John would take offence against. He was the one holding the paddle after all, and adding to his anger was not at all a good idea for the state of one’s backside.

‘Yes?’ John asked remarkably calmly, so Brian decided to take the risk.

‘Just- how many times, Master?’ Brian asked. He feared the number that would be disclosed to him; he so far had not been given any sentence over fifty smacks, but he had a feeling that today would bring a change to that. If Roger indeed had received 150 slaps for touching himself, then was what to come up now that he had collaborated against his master and disrupted Roger’s punishment?

‘Until I decide you’ve learned your lesson.’ This judgement coincided with another landing of the wood against the palm of John’s hand, and Brian could not help but emitting a mixture of a groan and a whimper. He realised all too well how dangerous of a statement this was. John granted himself the space to drag on the spanking for hours if he wished to do so, strike him either a hundred times or the double or the triple of that, without granting Brian the usual prospect of counting so he could tell himself he’d already born the largest part of his punishment. He would be left to beg for mercy while John would spank him again and again without having any sense of how far down the road he was in the grand scheme of things - which perhaps was a worse punishment than having to take the heart shaped paddle.

‘Yes Master,’ Brian squeaked. He was unsure if he was supposed to react to John’s statement at all, but, fearing that remaining quiet would be taken as a sign of disobedience, he spoke the standard reply just so that John knew he had heard him and would suffer the consequences as set out by him.

‘Alright. ‘I’m ready if you are.’ It was the smallest sign of comfort John could give, and yet Brian was glad that he did. He knew that one way or another he would be paying for his mistakes, but it was good to know that John nevertheless took his comfort and into account.

‘I am ready, Master,’ Brian said, bracing himself for what was to come - although he soon found out that he could not have prepared himself for the blow he was about to receive.

_SMACK! _

The sound of the wood against skin was audible before Brian could feel the burn - a delayed reaction of some sort, he supposed - but it nevertheless kicked in fairly soon afterwards. Even if it had not done so right away, the two more smacks that were delivered in the exact same spot mere seconds after guaranteed that Brian was bound to feel the impact of the paddle. And so he did indeed; a hot, searing pain spread over the curve of his ass, making his eyes screw shut tightly and his face distort against the mattress below him.

_THWACK!_ The paddle came down again, this time leaning a bit more to his left buttock, then to the right side, and back to the middle. The sound of each slap was overwhelming in the otherwise quiet bedroom - and the impact each slap had was even more so. Brian could already feel the skin of his bottom starting to heat up every time the paddle came in contact with it, and they’re not even eight slaps in when he already found himself groaning in pain. It was directly after a particularly vindictive blow directed at the curve of his ass that sent him hissing that John withdrew the paddle and spoke for the first time of that session.

‘Tell me why you’re here.’ The question was clear and straight-forward as could be, and yet it took Brian a few seconds - and another lash of the paddle - to answer his superior. His mind was fogged by the pain in his ass, of which he suspected the colour was starting to match the one on his face. He felt embarrassed and clammy and uncomfortable, and John’s words came to him as if spoken from a mile away. It was only when the paddle clashes with his overheated skin again that he managed to pull his mind together and answer at last.

‘Because I was- I was disobedient.’

_SMACK!_ The paddle was back again, and so was the pain spreading through Brian’s lower body. Brian’s first reaction was to bury his upper teeth deeply into his lower lip to prevent himself from screaming, but John expressing that he was not satisfied with this answer rendered this option impossible for the time being.

‘Gotta be a bit more specific there, love.’ Another slap landed, this time on the sensitive curve where cheek meets thigh, and it sent Brian keening.

‘Ow! I was- I received, ah, sexual pleasure from Freddie without your permission,’ Brian stumbled out, hoping that this account of what had happened would please John more. John huffed out a laugh, which left Brian unsure whether he was happy or disapproving of the corrected answer he’d been given.

‘I have to say I continue to be amused by your use of language. How you’ll try and make Freddie sucking you off sound less serious with fancy vocabulary. But you won’t fool me, May,’ John said sharply, sending Brian into a spiral of panic. He had never meant to make his misstep sound less serious by packaging it in what John called fancy words; he simply was too awkward to say it as the people he was surrounded by would have done.

‘I never meant to- ow!’ Brian grunted when he was whacked into submission by the paddle. 

‘Let me spell it out for you. It’s easy as this. We do _not_,’ John emphasises, ‘touch each other in any shape of form without my permission. Am. I. _Clear_?’ The last three words were interspersed with resounding smacks to his upper thighs, and Brian made a noise so high-pitched he feared the neighbours might have heard it.

‘Yes! Yesyesyes, yes, you are clear Master, please!’ Brian whimpered. Tears were blurring his sight and he writhed around on the mattress. With his hands bound and his lower body immobile through the pain in his backside, there was not much he could do save from a little wriggling. Master John allowed this, seeming to understand that he needed _something_ to ease the strain, but nevertheless kept up the punishment with equal force and an equal amount of lecturing. 

‘And we do _not_ sneak out to jerk off or have a fellow slave blow us when our master is occupied for a minute,’ John added to his previous statement, landing a flurry of swats more towards the upper side of Brian’s bottom.

‘I know! I know, I knowiknowiknow, _please_!’

‘Why don’t we do that?’ John asked, calmly as ever while Brian’s voice was intermitted by sobs and shrieks of pain whenever the paddle came down. John had moved from making sure that Brian was hit only by the broad surface of the tool to letting the sharp edges of it crash into him as well. This not only caused a sharper, more localised pain; Brian knew the impact of the edges were also prone to leaving red splotches behind on his skin, which he would be able to feel for days and days after.

‘Because it’s against the rules,’ Brian answered quickly, hoping to escape some swats by doing so.

No such luck.

‘Exactly, but why is it against the rules?’ John asked.

_SMACK!_

‘Because it’s… ugh, disruptive,’ Brian groaned. ‘You- you were busy with Roger.’

‘Aha,’ John said, landing another smack more towards the lower side of Brian’s bum, and his victim whined when he felt the butt plug being forced deeper inside of him. ‘And?’

‘We- I- I disappointed you,’ Brian squeaked, feeling even smaller than he had done before. It was as if your parents were notified by the school principal that the eight-year-old version of you had been sent out for disruptive behaviour in class, and instead of getting angry at you, they told you how disappointed they were. It hurt more to think that he had disappointed his master than Brian could have thought beforehand.

‘Also, indeed,’ John said. ‘And why did it disappoint me?’

_For fuck’s sake,_ Brian thought, whining into the mattress beneath him. His bottom was on fire and his mind was clouded beyond reason, which made it nearly impossible for him to come up with a follow-up consequence for why sneaking off had disappointed John. A slap against his left thigh, however, made him wriggle and blabber out the first reason that came to mind.

‘Because I promised to al-always do as you told me!’

‘You did indeed,’ John said surprisingly thoughtfully for a guy of whom Brian knew was feeling on top of the world now that he got to smack him back into submission after having screwed up. ‘And why is it bad that you didn’t do as I told you?’

‘_Because_!’ Brian cried out in frustration, no longer able to come up with sensible answers to these more and more circular turning questions. ‘Because it’s- it- undermines your power! Ow, stop, _please_!’ he whimpered, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. It was convenient that his face was buried into the sheets, because he did not want anyone to see his teary eyes and ruddy cheeks as a result of a spanking with a tool he knew would hardly make Freddie or Roger budge. He knew he was new, he knew no one would hold his sensitivity against him, and yet he preferred to keep it to himself. Stay strong even when he wasn’t.

‘I’ll take that,’ said John calmly. When the next stroke landed on his ass, it was not the wooden paddle, but the palm of John’s hand; more than that, there was no force behind it. Still, Brian groaned at the mere touch of the cold skin of John’s hand on the overheated surface of his backside, which was glowing under John’s touch.

Rubbing slow, light circles across the skin, John remarked: ‘This might turn really rather sore, love. You might want to sleep on your back tonight.’

‘Yes, Master,’ Brian agreed obediently. His ass throbbed at the mere thought of pulling a blanket over it, let alone to lie in bed and wake up turned to his back, as he often found himself doing in his state of unconsciousness.

‘Might teach you not to be disobedient anymore,’ John followed up, and Brian felt his entire body tense up when his master sat down beside him. John removed his right hand to place his cool, left hand across his slave’s buttocks, and Brian emitted a sound that was a combination of a groan and a sigh. The mere touch of fingertips was unbearable on his whacked skin, and yet the cold feeling of John’s hand had a soothing effect on his sore bottom. He wanted more and he wanted less of it, which resulted in him lying sprawled across the mattress bonelessly while his superior continued rubbing circles over the afflicted areas.

‘You know you’ve done this to yourself, Baby,’ John said sternly, administering a soft yet sharp slap if the hand to the curve of Brian’s ass, making Brian suck in a sharp breath at the unexpectedness of it. ‘And you deserve every last bit of this.’

Brian, eternally blushing, said: ‘I do, Master.’

‘Very well. Shall we get on with it, then?’ John asked, even though they both knew it was not so much a question as a statement. The paddle was picked up from the bed, and the clap of it resounded against John’s hand first, and then against Brian’s left buttock, before the victim could even react. He was too star-struck to speak; just now that it had seemed John was finally taking a bit of mercy on him, he was back to deliver him a new round of punishment with renewed force and vigour, making Brian yelp out a high-pitched cry.

‘What do we say then, Brian?’ John asked him without blinking, as if he had never fit an intermission in between the first session and the second session which apparently was being established as they were speaking.

‘Sorry!’ Brian squeaked. ‘Sorry Master John, sorry, I’m really- really sorry!’

‘Hm… How come I don’t quite believe you?’ John said coolly, letting the edge of the paddle come down vertically across Brian’s right cheek. Brian was in agony - screaming and shrieking and tossing around as much as his restraints allowed him. For some reason the break he had been given seemed to make the pain increase rather than fade, and the fact that John did not believe his apology only increased his helplessness and vulnerability. He was completely at John’s fingertips, and not until he managed to convince him that he really did feel bad for having been disobedient would he be let go of.

‘I don’t know, Master- ow! I’m sorry, seriously!’ Silent tears were streaming down Brian’s cheeks by now. The pain in his behind was unbearable, but the longer the onslaught went on, the more he realised he really did deserve every single strike and lash, and that he had to face up the consequences of his and Freddie’s actions.

Speaking of Freddie’s actions… 

‘Yes, but are you sorry for letting Freddie blow you, or for me finding out that he did?’ John asked.

‘For letting Freddie blow me!’ Brian replied immediately. ‘I never- I never should have gone with, Master! I’m so sorry, should have… I should have-’

Brian’s voice stocked in his throat, and though his mind was running circles to figure out the correct answer, he could not come up with anything decent to say. John noticed this too, for the paddle momentarily disappeared while he asked: ‘What should you have done, Baby?’

‘Tell Freddie off a-and… and go to you,’ Brian stuttered. It was stupid, really, but he seriously only thought of this solution now. While he had been in the middle of it, face to face with Freddie half-offering, half-insisting he should let him suck him off, Brian had been too starstruck to really object to the idea. Sure, he had known all along that it was against the rules of their master, and that they would be in big, big trouble when they were found out; and yet for some reason, he had been unable to do anything but stand there and let Freddie do what he wished to do. He had been paralysed in the moment, and he only realised now that he should have taken a stance against his fellow slave so all of this could have been avoided. It was a lesson to be learned, but the most painful one in Brian’s books as of yet.

‘See, you know what to do,’ John said. ‘So then why didn’t you?’

‘I don’t _know_,’ Brian said in the smallest voice imaginable, hardly audible over the sound of the paddle against his skin. ‘I don’t know, Master, I was- I was shocked, and I didn’t- I never meant to disappoint you. I’m so _sorry_.’ It was only when this last word was squeaked out that Brian allowed himself to break down, his inaudible sobs now overtaken by loud ones. His entire body was shaking with the physical strain of being whipped and the mental strain of knowing he had consciously disobeyed his master’s direct orders, the realisation of which made Brian feel guiltier by the second.

Luckily John understood that he had suffered enough under his relentless paddle and stern words, and although Brian heard the implement woosh through the air, no landing across his buttocks followed. Instead, the paddle was discarded to the floor, and two careful hands tugged the waistband of his boxers into place again, wordlessly telling Brian that his ordeal was over.

‘Good. You’re done for now, Baby. Have some time to come down again,’ John confirmed that which Brian had already wished and prayed for. John’s hands felt surprisingly cold against the untouched skin of the rest of his body, and Brian shivered when John’s hands folded themselves around the curve of his arms, running up and down from his shoulders to his elbow. The soothing movements did little to comfort Brian - on the contrary, all they did was make him lose himself to the tears even more now that the time designated for a proper breakdown had begun. Now sobbing properly, he let John stroke his shoulders and pat his back. His entire body was shaking with the strain and his bum was terribly sensitive, but on the inside he felt numb as could be. It was a strange mixture of pain and regret and shame and a hint of relief, relief that he had passed his ordeal, and he could not help feeling a weight light off his shoulders (quite literally, that was) when John withdrew his arms from him to give him some time to recover on his own.

‘Tell me if you need me.’ John’s voice was suddenly a lot closer than before, and Brian felt a hand raking through his sweaty curls. Brian sniffed and nodded, and was rewarded with a peck against his hair before John scrambled back to his feet again, now making himself ready to teach Freddie the lesson which had been hanging over his head for quite a while.

‘Well,’ said John, heels clacking against the floor. ‘That’s one slave put back into his place, which brings us to you, Mercury. And let’s be honest here - this was your idea, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, Master,’ Freddie said, surprising Brian by his speed and quickness to give in. ‘Brian didn’t know what I had in mind- didn’t know I followed him to the bathroom. Nothing would have happened if it wasn’t for me,’ Freddie said, leaving Brian again surprise, this time by his willingness to take the blame. Sure, it was true that it had been Freddie’s idea, and it had been Freddie’s doing that had put Brian naked from the waist down with his fellow slave’s lips around his dick - but still it felt wrong to Brian to put it all on Freddie. All Freddie had wanted to do was help him out of his uncomfortable situation. Still sobbing, Brian decided to gather all his courage and told John:

‘Master, it is not-’

‘Shush, Brian. It was all on me and you know it,’ Freddie cut him off before he could speak.

‘Quiet! The both of you!’ John ordered, and Brian heard what he assumed was a lash of the hairbrush coming down on Freddie’s backside. He himself merely got a tap of John’s forefinger against his left buttock, but in his current state of affliction, this was enough to make the guitarist flinch.

‘Neither of you asked for my permission to speak. But it seems like you’re not new to doing things without my permission anyway,’ John reproached them drily, before turning to Freddie again. ‘Now, I already had a feeling that all of this was your idea. Having you blow him in the bathroom didn’t strike me as something Baby would come up with,’ John pondered out loud. From the corners of his eyes, through which Brian peaked carefully, he could see how John lazily tailed the hairbrush across Freddie’s cheeks, leaving the singer trembling in anticipation for the moment when his punishment would take off for real. ‘You’ve just witnessed Brian getting spanked for something he wasn’t even responsible for. Where to do think that puts you?’

‘In rather large trouble, I presume, Master,’ Freddie said with an air of haughtiness, which earned him a whack across his bottom. Brian heard him gasp at the impact of it.

‘Say that again,’ John dared him. Despite Freddie now humbly telling his superior that he was sorry and that he did not think it decent to repeat, he was still given a handful of lashes with the brush just for his imprudence, and the grunt of pain he emitted after each one of them made something crawl underneath Brian’s skin.

‘You know what?’ John said after the last spank, ‘I was thinking of maybe setting a sentence for you. Some 120, 130, 140 slaps or so, to ease the pressure a little. I know that this little toy can be a tad painful,’ he acknowledged in what seemed to Brian to be the understatement of the century. ‘But you know what? I don’t think you deserve that. You’ve shown nothing but bad behaviour since breakfast, and if Brian had to sit through his punishment without knowing how much more he had to go through, then so do you.’

‘But Master, please!’ Freddie gasped. ‘Please, I’m sorry!’

‘Oh, you _will_ be,’ John promised wickedly. Brian felt the weight of the body next to him on the mattress to be levelled towards the right side, which he expected was John dragging Freddie over than Freddie moving on his own volition, but felt himself zone out when the punishment for his fellow slave was started to be carried out. Although Brian could hear the words of reproach of their master, could hear the landing of the hairbrush on flesh, the hisses and groans that Freddie emitted, it did not make an impression on him like it normally would. He was numbed by the pain in his own body, the pain that slowly started to fade and tingle instead, and everything around him felt so far away. He felt tired, suddenly; so fucking tired that he would swear he could fall asleep if it hadn’t been for the fact that Freddie’s groans and hisses had now been replaced by yelps and mewls, which in time were exchanged for begging and imploring. It wasn’t often that Freddie - cool, calm, and collected Freddie - would be driven to the point of despair, but Brian could hardly blame him for it. God knew that he would have given in after approximately three blows of the hairbrush, so the fact that Freddie had kept up for what, fifty or so slaps, really was rather impressive.

The thing that did worry Brian slightly, somewhere in the back of his fogged mind, was the fact that John had expressed an intention to dole out a minimum of 120 slaps with the hairbrush to Freddie. Despite not having counted the strikes so far, Brian was fairly sure that they were at the very most at half of that amount with a bit of wishful thinking - and hearing the mewls and begs from Freddie as of now, he did not know whether the frontman would hold out dealing with this many blows for an entirely new round.

Luckily for Brian’s eardrums but most of all for the sake of the tender skin of Freddie’s poor bottom, their master seemed to sense too that Freddie would reach a breaking point sooner or later if he carried on the way he did now. After another handful of slaps to the top of Freddie’s thighs, he was given a few minutes to catch his breath, after which Freddie literally emitted a cry of joy when the bassist told him he’d have mercy on him on account of his honesty towards what he had done, and that he’d get just fifteen more to settle it. Much to Freddie’s dismay he was told that this last set of blows would be given to him through the embarrassing process of having to ask for each one and likewise having to thank John for each one that would come down - but, when John told him it was either this or enduring double the amount if he dared to bring up one more protestation against his master’s decisions, Freddie was quick to fall quiet and oblige. 

The last fifteen slaps somehow seemed to last longer than the previous eighty or so must have taken. This was largely the result of Freddie being given the opportunity of regulating the pace now that he had to ask for each lash before it would be administered to him, although he was not entirely given a free pass to take as much time as he wanted. Whenever he took a little too long to recover from the previous slap, John would give his slave’s behind a devilishly tight squeeze that sent Freddie squealing in pain, but which did not fail to instantly make him beg for another slap before he’d be pulled through even more additional terror than he’d already been sentenced to.

When the final slap - according to Brian’s internal counting - landed, and was received by its victim with a low, pitiful grunt, the hairbrush clattered to the ground next to the bed. It was their master’s way of telling his slaves that the round of punishment had ended, and as usual, it came to Brian as a huge relief. Of course he had been let go of quite a while ago, but he had hardly been able to relax with the sounds of his fellow slave being manhandled a mere two feet next to him. It was only now that the brush had been discarded, that Freddie’s ragged breathing was starting to even out, and that John was starting to untangle and unwrap the cloth he had used to tie his wrists together. Brian hadn’t quite noticed the tightness of the restraints until he was released of it, and he hoped that the red marks would not be visible around his wrists for all too long. They would have a meeting with Miami and Ray Foster concerning the funding and user rights of the upcoming album in a mere two days, and if it was somewhat possible, Brian would like to keep their lawyer and producer out of the band’s bedroom arrangements.

As soon as the material around his wrists came loose and was pulled away, Brian’s arms involuntarily slipped away from his back and landed bonelessly next to his torso. He could not muster the strength to keep them in their previously designated place, or bring them up to study the effects the tight ropes around them had had on the appearance of his wrists. Then again, even if he could have, he probably would have oppressed the tendency to do so until his master had given him explicit permission or orders to get up. Even the simplest things like moving one’s arms freely were restricted under John’s gaze, and Brian was not the one to test him by trying how far he could push him. He simply waited for John’s orders while the bassist untied the man next to him.

‘You took that well, both of you. I’m pretty pleased, I’ll admit,’ John said in a rare instance of mid-session praise. ‘But I’m not done with you yet,’ he added - something Brian had dimly expected, but which nevertheless made him shiver now that he actually heard that they were up for a part two. ‘So here’s the deal. Mercury - you’re staying right here on the bed as you are at the moment. If I find you’ve moved even a single millimetre, I’m pushing that brush up your ass. Understood?’

‘Yes, Master,’ Freddie obliged.

‘Good. And you, Brian… you’re coming with me.’

This was something Brian had not expected. Practically the entirety of their BDSM sessions and related punishments were carried out within this very room that constituted the Dungeon, so he had no idea what John was talking about - and not knowing where he was going to be carried off to scared him.

‘What- where to?’ The question had left his lips before he knew it, which soon turned out to have been a mistake. John’s flat hand came down right across his backside once, twice, and thrice, and Brian squealed in pain in response. It was hardly a worthy punishment for speaking out of turn, but Brian was glad John limited his reproach to a single smack - partially because his ass was still on fire, but mostly because he knew a serious round of punishment was going to be doled out to him soon.

‘What was that?’ John asked dangerously. John seemed to crouch down to the floor for a purpose Brian could not make out right away.

‘Asking questions out- out of turn. I’m sorry! Ow- I’m _sorry_!’ Brian whimpered when the paddle was back in the game, the sharp wooden side of which now whacked him right across his cheeks. So that was what his master had been doing a few seconds ago - picking up the paddle in order to give him another feel of the instrument, just in case he had forgotten the pain it caused.

‘No questions. Get up, pull up your trousers, and follow me.’

‘Ow!’ Brian squealed when the paddle crashed down on his backside for the last time of that session. ‘Yes, Master,’ Brian managed obediently, tears pricking behind his eyes. He scrambled off the bed on sore wrists, and felt a tinge of dizziness when he stood up a little too fast. He did not get too much time to recover from it, though, for John was already heading out of the bedroom. Brian knew he had been ordered to follow him, so he made a little sprint to catch up with his master. He scurried down the hallway and made it just in time to catch the door that was falling shut behind John, slipping in and almost tripping over the threshold in his hurry to be in the bathroom with John right in time.

The bathroom, out of all places. Personally Brian had thought he would end up in the kitchen to join Roger on the kitchen table, or to be bent over the back of the leather chair in the living room. He was unsure what was to be done in the bathroom, but he was sure he’d find out soon enough.

‘Look at me, Baby,’ said John, who was standing across from Brian, arms crossed over his chest and leaning against the faux marble sink. With the overhead lightning from the mirror casting down on him in the otherwise dimly lit bathroom, he looked even more threatening than Brian currently regarded him to be already.

‘Undress.’ It was issued as a short but absolute demand, and it caught Brian off-guard for some reason. Sure, he’d been naked around John, but this had always been in the presence of his other slaves, too. Being alone with his master and having to strip stark naked before him with John’s preening eyes focussing on nothing else but him and his awkwardness was something that made Brian go pale despite the flush that being caught with Freddie’s lips around him and that being spanked for his insolence had already brought to his face.

‘Well?’ John asked with an eyebrow lifted inquisitively when after a handful of seconds Brian had not moved a finger yet. ‘Need another round with the paddle first, or will you get to it?’

‘No, Master,’ Brian replied quickly. ‘I’ll - I’ll get to it, Sir.’ Brian was not entirely sure where the ‘Sir’ came from, given that this was not a title any of them usually employed to refer to their master, but he decided that right now was not the time to reflect on it. Instead, he caught the hem of his shirt between his thumbs- and forefingers, and hesitantly pulled the fabric over his head. He sensed that John was staring intently at him, and felt his cheeks starting to heat up again. Granted, none of the band had a well-trained six-pack to boast of, and he knew there was no reason to be ashamed of his body. It was just that sometimes he wished he would have a somewhat more toned physique, that there would be a little more to him than just pale skin and jutting hip bones and what Freddie had jokingly called his ‘chicken breast’. A bit more colour like Freddie, or a bit more curve like Roger was definitely something he would not mind. Right now, in mid-winter with an upcoming album deadline that he worried himself over to the point of skipping meals to work on guitar riffs and lyrics, neither of those seemed realistic. Besides, neither of those were a quick fix for the fact that he was currently undressing in front of Master John, whose preening eyes made his fingers tremble.

The shirt had now been removed from his torso, and Brian, unsure what to do with it and hesitant about showing off his chest, held it in front of his torso. He flashed John a shy look that betrayed his doubtfulness, to which John reached out a hand towards him.

‘Give it to me. You’ll get this back in a week if you behave.’

Brian swallowed painfully at being reminded of one of the consequences Freddie and he were to suffer for their unsupervised intimacies, and handed the shirt over. He then began working on the button and fly of his trousers, and then carefully wriggled out of them in an attempt to not pull along his boxers too in the same go. He knew he’d have to part with them too before too long, but he preferred going one piece of clothing at the time, thank you very much.

Brian stepped out of his trousers, folded them somewhat messily, and then handed them over to John, who let them disappear into the cabinet underneath the sink. It was then time to part with his boxers, which Brian did with closed eyes and one swift moment that had his underwear hooked under his knees, his ankles, and he stepped out of it to give it to John. Not wasting any time, he crossed his hands in front of his cock, hoping to cover up whatever he could.

John, unfortunately, was having none of it.

‘Move your hands. If you’re not afraid to show yourself to Freddie, then you shouldn’t mind showing it to your master either.’ Brian dutifully obliged, and let his hands hang loosely along his sides as he was ordered. He was all too much aware of John drinking in the sight of his half-hard cock, and he turned his eyes to the side so he did not have to look back at his master. John could read his body language like an open book, however, and knew exactly what to say to make Brian regret every choice he had made that day even more.

‘Still hard after all of this?’ John asked. ‘That spanking was supposed to teach you a lesson, not to make you beg for Freddie to take you back into his mouth again.’

To his embarrassment, Brian’s cock gave a slight twitch at these words, and he wished he could vanish into thin air. ‘I’m sorry, Master,’ Brian mumbled, cursing his body for behaving like a teenage virgin faced with a porn magazine for the first time.

‘I know something that’ll put you back into your place. You’re going to take a bath.’ With this simple yet somehow mysterious statement, John moved forwards and screwed the cold water tap open, letting a solid, noisy stream of water clatter down on the bathtub floor. The rubber plug was pushed into its designated place, John had a feel at the streaming water with his right hand, and then took a step back to lean against the sink again. Brian looked from John to the tub that slowly filled up with water, then back at John again.

‘Uhm,, Master? Can I- eh, ask something?’

‘Go ahead,’ John allowed.

‘I, uhm, think you forgot to turn on the hot water, Master.’

‘I most certainly did _not_ forget,’ John replied, his face serious and static as usual. Brian opened his mouth with the intention to inform him that he had only opened up the cold water tap, but quickly shut his mouth again when it dawned on him what John was doing.

Making him undress. Teasing him for still being hard, and telling him he knew something to put him into his place. Opening the cold water tap only. The next round on punishment was going to consist of John dumping him into a cold bath.

The realisation of what was going to happen to him in just a few minutes restrained Brian from asking any more questions. He knew it would be anything but a nice experience to be submerged in a bathtub full of cold water - the mere event of standing under the shower and having the water turn cold for a few seconds as someone elsewhere in the house opened a tap was enough to make Brian squeak. Roger, whom he had witnessed undergoing similar treatment just a few weeks ago upon showing up to a session late, had spent the rest of the morning shivering away in a bundle of pyjamas and blankets on the sofa. Brian feared a worse fate for himself at the moment, however - given that he had been told he would not be allowed to wear clothes around the house nor use any furniture for the upcoming week, he feared that today was going to be longest and coldest one he might ever have experienced.

‘Wanna have a feel too, Brian? See what you’re going to be up for in a moment?’ John asked, and Brian, not particularly excited to move but not daring to refuse the offer either, moved to the rim of the tub and put his left hand into the water. It was shockingly cold to his still warm, blushing skin, and he retracted his hand quickly. Having nothing to wipe the cold water off on, he simply rubbed the palms of his hands against each other.

‘What do you think?’ John asked.

‘It’s - cold, Master. Very cold.’

‘Good. Tap water should be around seven or eight degrees at this time of the year,’ John answered, and Brian could swear he saw the hint of a smirk on John’s lips. He felt tears pricking behind his eyes - tears he did not dare wipe away when the words he had feared were spoken after another minute of silence.

‘Your bath should be ready by now. Hop in, I’d say,’ John said with a hint of humour that Brian could not share with him at the moment. Avoiding John’s eyes, Brian placed one hand on the wall next to the bath, carefully dipping one toe into the water. It was shockingly cold, and he let out something of a shriek as he pulled his leg back on the floor again.

‘Brian…’ John said dangerously, which added to the cold shiver that ran through Brian’s spine. ‘Get into the tub, now.’

‘Sorry, Master.’ He took a deep breath and put his toe in the water again, the ball of his foot, his heel, down to his ankle…

…only to withdraw all of it again when the coldness against his skin became unbearable. It was embarrassing and drained in against every rule of the Dungeon, but Brian just couldn’t do it. He had never been made to sit in a bath of ice cold water before, and he simply could not keep up with the sharp pain it caused against his skin.

‘May,’ John said, which Brian knew was a bad sign. Being addressed by one’s last name was never a good sign, but having one’s BDSM superior use this term seemed like particularly bad news to him. ‘I thought I was clear when I made an order.’

‘Yes, Mas-’

‘I’m counting to three, and if you’re not sitting on your bottom in that tub I will personally make sure you’ll end up in there for the rest of the day.’ The threat was effective - a small whimper escaped Brian at the mere idea of having to sit in stone cold water for the remainder of the day which had not even crossed noon yet, and he stepped closer to put his right foot into the water again. It was cold, so fucking cold, but he did not dare withdraw his foot from the water again. Especially not when he heard John’s voice behind him making true on his threat.

‘One...’

With sight panic, Brian put the same foot back into the water, grinding his teeth together at the sheer feeling of it. It was cold, so cold, but he had to pull through with this if he did not want to land himself into a position that would somehow be even worse. His toes reached the bottom of the bathtub just when an even more threatening ‘two’ followed, and Brian hurried himself to step into the tub with both feet. Cold, cold, so fucking cold, but the look on John’s face was unrelenting and unamused at his reluctance to do as he was told.

‘…Three.’

The ultimatum was completed before Brian knew it, and John duly rose from his chair to carry out whatever punishment he deemed fit for Brian’s hesitance. Brian felt his heart pounding in his chest, and instinctively tried to save whatever was left saving.

‘No wait! Wait, I’m sorry, I’m doing it- I’m doing it!’ Brian blabbered out as he lowered himself into the tub, at first falling to his knees, then leaning back on his heels, and from that point getting down into a sitting position. He was unsure whether the pain in his freshly spanked bottom or the pain of water so cold it felt like needles poking into his body from every possible angle hurt more, and he could not oppress a wail of uneasiness escaping him. He wrapped his arms around his torso in an attempt to warm himself up, but it did little to save him from the torture that was a cold water bath.

To add to his misery, John looked at him with an unimpressed glint in his eyes. ‘That was close, Baby. A _very_ close call.’

‘I know,’ Brian whimpered. ‘Iknowiknowiknow, I’m- s-sorry!’

‘You will be,’ John said. ‘Hand me the showerhead.’

Without hesitation, Brian reached out two shaky arms towards the showerhead, which continued to fill up the bath with icy water. Unscrewing it from its iron holder was easier said than done, but he managed after a few seconds of wriggling it around and muttering excuses to his master, who waited for him to hand it over. Brian already had a feeling of what his plans were with the showerhead, but the moment it was lifted up and the ice cold spray came down on his head was still a shock to him. He mewled out something unintelligible and habitually tried to move away from the source of terror, but one strict word from his master was enough to keep him in place. He then miserably endured the cold water running down his head, shoulders, soaking his hair and leaving him even more frozen than he was before. His arms he wrapped around his torso again as he tried to prevent his teeth from clattering and his eyes from leaking tears he could feel building up.

John seemed to be perfectly in his element handing out the punishment. Sitting at the edge of the tub, he ran a loose hand through Brian’s soaked curls as he made sure every part of him was soaked with cold water, and Brian swore he could even hear him hum a tune of a T-Rex song he could not remember the title of at the moment. All his brain was occupied with was holding on, surviving this ordeal - this baptism of ice, if you will - and staying in place so he would not provoke more punishment.

His strategy seemed to work; the tub filled up until a few inches below the edge, and John then leant over to dutifully turn off the tap. Brian would have liked to think of this as an improvement, but with all the liquid coldness surrounding him, there was little to be relieved about. His heavy breathing and mewls of agony hadn’t ceased yet, but his master seemed to pay no special attention to it; that was, he did not tease him about it or tell him to stop, but he also did not comfort him. What he did instead was leaving Brian behind in the tub with the message that he would be right back and that he had to stay exactly where he was, and that any attempt at escaping his punishment for even a split second would result in a tougher sentence. Brian didn’t even dare think about what this would entail.

John returned to the bathroom a few minutes later with the hairbrush he had used on Freddie, a tip-up chair from the storage room next to the kitchen, and a bucket filled something Brian could not immediately make out. Seeing the look of concern on his face, John sat down on the chair, and placed the hairbrush on the sink behind him, and put the bucket between his legs.

‘The hairbrush will not be used if you just do as you’re told,’ John said as a comfort. ‘Hold out your hands.’

Brian was unsure what he was to hold his hands out for if not to have them paddled with the brush, but when John’s hands disappeared into the bucket and returned filled with ice cubes, he felt cold sweat running down his back - or perhaps it was just cold water dripping down from his hair.

‘We’re going to play a little game,’ John said with a smile that Brian found himself unable to copy. ‘You’re going to hold up twenty ice cubes in your hands, and hold them in place until they’ve melted away completely. For every ice cube you drop I’ll add ten to the water. Understood?’

‘Yes, Master,’ said Brian through teary eyes.

‘Good boy. Here’s one to give you a feeling for it.’ The first ice cube was placed in the palm of Brian’s left hand, and he took a deep breath. It was a large cube - Brian estimated it to be a square inch all around at least - and it lay surprisingly heavy in his hands. It was cold to his skin, for sure, but it was only when seconds passed that he really started to feel the impact of the ice. It was not just cold - it was _freezing_. _Actually_ freezing, unlike the water. It seemed to cut right through his skin and it gave a strange feeling of both heat and numbness to his entire hand, and he had to fight hard to keep it in his palm instead of just dropping it in the water as every nerve in his body begged him to do. It was outright torture.

‘How’s that?’ John asked maliciously.

‘It’s- cold, Master,’ Brian merely uttered, afraid that he would lose the stamina he so far had been able to keep up if he allowed himself to be distracted from his task. John, seeing how intensely he was focussed on the ice cube in his hand, obviously saw this as a sign to move on, and a second and a third ice cube was added to Brian’s cupped hand. It was cold, so fucking cold, but he was given little time to adjust to the situation when the fourth and the fifth little cube of terror was placed in his hands. Soon enough there were enough cubes to cover the entire surface of his upturned palms. The ones added from that point onwards did little to increase the feeling of cold sliding right through his veins; they merely added to the weight placed in Brian’s hands. It had been no more than perhaps three minutes, but he already felt the strain in his wrist from holding up the load in front of him in such an unnatural position.

The weight was, of course, nothing compared to the chilling coldness of the ice. Brian pressed his eyes shut and tried breathing exercises Freddie had taught him to prevent himself from hyperventilating in case something distressing might happen in the Dungeon, which were somewhat useful now that his entire nervous system wanted to scream but his common sense knew he had to stay quiet as he could be. The feeling of the first drops of water dripping down on his skin and into the water he was surrounded by came as a relief to Brian - a sign that this ordeal was at least progressing towards an end that would hopefully be soon upon him - but it was no reason for cheerfulness. He realised it would be a long time before the ice cubes would be gone altogether, and he had no idea of what was to be his fate once they were.

‘Sit still, Brian. I won’t hesitate to push one of these up your ass.’

An ice cube was tossed into the water, and it was only when his master reproved him for it that Brian realised he had been shifting around in his place. A handful of minutes into this exercise (or whatever one wanted to call it) had made him extremely uncomfortable, and he longed to be able to move, talk, or just do whatever to take his attention off of the iceberg that had been dropped in his hands. His superior however seemed to think otherwise, so Brian was forced to sit back and endure the remainder of his punishment sound- and motionlessly.

After what seemed like ages - longer than all of his high school exams combined, even longer than having had to wait for the results of them for two entire weeks - the last ice particles dissolved into drops of ice water that trickled down his hands into the water. It was only then that Brian allowed the relief to wash over him. He had done it; he had kept all of the twenty ice cubes in his hands without dropping any of them, and he had done so without complaining, whining, or crying. To mark the last of these actions as a feat was perhaps a bit pathetic, but there had been moments that the tears had been building up behind his eyes so strongly that Brian had been positive they would find their way out sooner or later. Even now that he had completed the punishment and hoped to be safe from any more of them, he could still feel them pricking his eyes. Deciding to write them off as nervousness and humiliation, Brian smiled right through them, and involuntarily took the liberty of using the back of his right hand to wipe away whatever tears he could before he’d have to face John, who still watched him closely from the side line - closely enough to notice the quick but unauthorised movement of Brian’s arm.

‘Did I give you permission for that, Baby?’

Brian didn’t even have to look at his master to know for a fact that a neutral expression of displeasure was currently taking a hold of his face, and he humbly cast down his eyes.

‘No, Master. I’m sorry.’

‘But I’m not. Hold out your hands,’ John instructed rather uselessly, seeing that after the quick rub at his eyes Brian had put his hands right back in their initial position. The hairbrush was extracted from its place on the sink, and Brian felt his heart sink in at the sight of it. Getting whacked with the hairbrush was something he knew for a fact he’d never look forward to, but he obediently held up his hands and resolved to take whatever he would be given like a man.

_Thwack!_

As some form of delayed reaction, Brian only felt the pain a second after the brush landed on the palm of his right hand. He had a feeling this was a result either of the fair amount of punishment he had been dragged through already that night and adjacent morning, or of the numbness of his hands following the ice holding event. The pain was both dull and very intense in some twisted way Brian was unable to explain, and he braced himself for the rest of the slaps he was to receive. John had not mentioned an amount, but after either eight or ten strikes with the brush (Brian had failed to count, having been too busy holding back his tears to do so) the implement was dropped in the sink, and John’s familiar low and stern voice barked a command at him.

‘Now apologise.’

‘I’m sorry, Master. For- sorry for moving before you told me to,’ Brian sniffed, adding the reason before John could order him to specify it with another thwack of the hairbrush.

‘Good,’ John murmured quietly, his eyes scanning over Brian’s shivering body, and eventually deciding it had been enough for the time being. ‘Now get up and get out of bath.’

Brian nodded thankfully and was quick to scramble to his knees and then stand up in the bathtub, shivering as he did so. The air around him was warmer than the water he had been sitting in for what felt like a century, but the cold water on his skin seemed to cool down his body even further. Getting out of bath was a challenge also; normally speaking Brian would have put his hand on the wall and step out of the tub, but now that the palms of his hands had been too manhandled to use for at least the upcoming two or three days, he had to do so without them.

Brian escaped the slippery tub with a surprisingly gentle hand John reached out to him for help, after which he was left to stand on the bath mat in front of the tub. John had stood up too, and was currently scanning his eyes over his slave’s naked frame. Brian felt a hint of red creeping up on his cheeks, which was both a good and a bad sign - he hated showing his embarrassment in front of his master, but on the other hand, he had questioned the possibility of ever gaining colour again after having been thrown in an ice cold bath. He was still shaking on his legs and feeling dizzy with cold, but his cheeks apparently begged to disagree. Brian tried to ignore the feeling of his by now completely flaccid cock, which hung limply between his legs. It was a huge difference compared to how hard and heavy he had been upon entering the bathroom - John had indeed been right in saying that a cold bath had been the cure.

After having looked him over deeply enough to have discovered his blood type at the very least, John turned to the cabinet and fished out a piece of fabric Brian could not exactly make out. He likewise could not see what John did to it, but given that it took him some time to turn back to face him and hand him the thing, he had a feeling something had been done to it.

‘You’re going to get one washcloth to dry yourself off with,’ John announced to a shivering Brian, who was quick to take the washcloth out of John’s hand and take it into his own. It took only a split second to him to feel the heaviness of the washcloth, and as he put it against his upper leg to dry himself off with, the coldness radiating from it was enough to tell him what had happened to it without peering inside of it from the upper side. It had been filled with those dreaded ice cubes.

Brian looked at John with pleading eyes which he feared betrayed the tears that were so close to spilling, but John had no mercy on him, and simply crossed his arms over his chest.

‘Go ahead. We haven’t got all day.’

Brian nodded wordlessly, and got down to putting the cold piece of fabric against his leg. The damned tool caught the drops of cold water lingering on his skin, but at the same time spread a coldness he had hoped to have gotten rid of the second he was granted permission to leave the bath. To sit through another round of torture through ice was not what he had in mind when he thought he was to be let go of, but, realising there was little to do apart from obeying his master, he rubbed his limbs dry as much as he could with the little amount of supplies he had been given.

When his entire body had been scrubbed dry as much as possible with the help of one single washcloth - which by that time was soaked both with bathwater and melting ice water from inside - Brian was ordered to turn around and bend over. His breath hitched in his throat when he felt John’s fingers slip between his ass cheeks, and he had to stifle a groan of pain when his master tugged the butt plug out of him. In the swirl of events Brian had nearly forgotten about the existence of it, but its sudden removal and the emptiness it left behind - not to mention the pain of John touching his bottom after having brutally attacked it with a paddle first - reminded him of it all too well. He was then spun around again and had his cock ring taken off (which was easy enough in his current state of disarousal), leaving him feeling awfully bare and vulnerable when John turned to the sink to wash his hands.

‘Good, as for a chastity belt,’ John said calmly while drying his hands, as if it was the most normal subject in the world to discuss, ‘I was thinking of something without a built-in butt plug for the time being for obvious reasons, but with a real lock to weigh you down. It’s part of the punishment, after all. How’s that sound?’

‘Yes, Master,’ Brian agreed quietly. He received a short nod from John, who left the room to fetch whatever device he had in mind to put on him. Brian felt a second wave of embarrassment heating up his face at the thought of it. Of course, he had worn a chastity belt before, but this had always been either inside the Dungeon, or just for the hell of it, to get used to the feeling of it. Never had it been doled out as a form of punishment. In fact, all the punishment he had gotten in the past hour or so had been a first for him. He had never provoked his master into giving him punishment for any serious reasons. Not answering properly, or perhaps talking back once or twice within a Dungeon session, so far had been the worst thing he had gotten up to - until this very day when he had been caught with his trousers pulled down and Freddie on his knees in front of him in the bathroom. He could not even begin to think of how disappointed John must have been in him.

John entered the room again with a leather strap and various bits dangling from it stretched between his hands. Brian did not dare to look at either his master or at the item he had brought, and the words John spoke to him regarding the matter hardly dawned on him. He absent-mindedly stepped into the thong-like construction and plucked at his own nails while John fastened the leather belt snugly around his hips.

‘This is something less of the beginner’s chastity belt you’ve worn until now - it’s a bit more restrictive than the one with the net you might remember from last time,’ John said, unsuccessfully trying to fit a finger between the belt and Brian’s hip, and consequently moving down to secure his private parts. His cock was pulled into what looked like an iron cage, and his balls were looped through a ring beneath. Under all of this John fastened a lock of which Brian was unsure if it had any real purpose or if it was just meant to give him the expression of being restricted - in which it definitely succeeded. He felt as small and embarrassed as could be, and he had to blink hard and fast to keep the tears from spilling. It was not the chastity belt itself, or the whacking he had gotten with the paddle, or the ice involving exercise, or having been found out in a compromising situation with Freddie, or even the prospect of the additional punishment and rules Freddie and he would have to stick to for the remainder of the day. It was the idea of having disappointed John that really struck him, and the unanswerable question of how he should look at him after having caught him getting his rocks off without his permission.

Sooner than expected John came up from the floor to face him properly. ‘This should do for the upcoming week. Of course we’ll keep everything neat and clean in the meantime, but you’ll have to get used to the feeling of this, Baby,’ John said with somewhat of a grin, but Brian found himself unable to smile, or even look back at him.

‘Brian?’ John called his name. ‘Are you alright? Will you look at me?’

Brian nodded in reply to the first question, and his eyes shortly passed over John’s as to obey to the second. He knew both of these were a violation of the rules, but for the time being, John seemed to understand that the rules were not exactly his top priority now that he was fighting the tears.

‘Hey, what is it?’ John asked. ‘Does it hurt? I can untighten it if you want.’

‘No, Master. It doesn’t hurt,’ Brian answered quietly but evasively - something that did not escape his superior.

‘Then what is it? Did I punish you too harshly?’

‘No, Master,’ Brian repeated just as absent-mindedly as the time before.

‘Are you angry at me, or at Freddie? Are you embarrassed by all of this?’

This last guess came closest to the source of Brian’s troubles, but it was not quite the truth yet. Facing the tiles of the bathroom floor, he admitted: ‘Not by this… this here.’

‘Then what are you embarrassed by?’ John asked. His tone was quiet and trusting but his presence, in the current role he held towards Brian, let his newest slave believe that he did not really have any other option than to tell John the cause of the tears that had been on the brink of spilling for too long.

‘By myself,’ Brian all but squeaked. ‘Because I- I failed you, and I can’t make up for it.’ It was with this that the first tears slipped from his eyes, but, afraid of repercussions if again he’d use his hands to wipe them away, Brian merely hung his head and let them travel down his cheeks.

John seemed perplexed by this line of reasoning, and expressed himself as being so. ‘Brian, what are you talking about?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Brian apologised in between the tears he spilled. ‘I’m really, _really_ sorry. I should ha-have stood up against Freddie more firmly, or push him away, or- or call you, but I… I didn’t know what to _do_ at the time.’

John blinked a few times to process the pieces of information together, but soon enough he got an image of what was troubling Brian. ‘Baby, is that what you’re so upset about?’ he asked, leaving Brian unsure if ‘baby’ was meant to be his Dungeon nickname or a term of endearment in its latest usage. ‘Because it’s okay. It’s okay, and nothing to worry about.’

‘It’s not okay!’ Brian sobbed. ‘It’s not okay, because I disappointed you a-and disobeyed you while I should have known better than that!’ With this, he covered his face in his hands as he had been wanting to do ever since the tears had started to run free. Seeing his most vulnerable slave break down as a result of beating himself up for something John had forgiven him for already made the last traces of sternness of the dungeon master break down, and he tugged his slave down to sit on the edge of the bathtub with his head tucked against his chest, simply letting Brian cry for the time being - which he knew from experience was exactly what Brian needed after having been treated so mercilessly by the person he so wanted to please.

‘’M s-_sorry_,’ Brian whispered when his sobs had died out, and he carefully removed his face from John’s by now tearstained shirt. ‘For- all of this. But most of- of all the thing in the bathroom with… with Freddie,’ Brian said allusively, too prude to describe it directly.

‘It’s alright. There’s nothing to worry about,’ John assured him once again. ‘Freddie and you were disobedient, which was disappointing. But you’ve done your sentence and you bore it very bravely.’

Brian looked at his feet. ‘I wouldn’t exactly call that brave…’

‘I would. I know you’re new to this scene, and how much pressure you are under - not just from me, but also from your fellow slaves. It was unfair of Freddie to put you in that situation, and he knows that just as well as I do.’

‘It wasn’t unfair. It was just a challenge that I should not have gone along with it,’ Brian hiccupped in defence of his friend.

‘You shouldn’t have, and that’s what you learned from this experience. It happened, you paid the price, and we’ll only look forward from now om.’

Brian nodded. ‘Sorry,’ escaped him weakly.

‘I know you are.’

Despite his master’s acknowledgement, Brian wiped away a line of lingering tears and repeated: ‘I’m really- really sorry.’

‘Hush now, honey,’ John told him. ‘Don’t worry about it any longer. We should get going - Freddie is yet to get his part of the punishment, and I want him to get in here before the ice cubes melt. I’d like to see how he reflects on the liberties he took today with an ice cube pushed up his ass,’ John told Brian in what he hoped would be a light-hearted comment that would ensure that Brian was not the only one to get some feedback on his actions. Brian, however, teared up at being told that Freddie would be in for a hard time that would be comparable (or superlative) to the punishment he had endured.

‘Please don’t be too harsh on him, Master. He didn’t mean to… to disobey you. He merely wanted to help… you know, to help me out. In his own way. Please don’t be too mad at him…’ Brian felt a new wave of tears coming up, and John sighed softly as he gave in - in his own fashion, that was.

‘Love, I won’t do anything to Freddie that would be unfair compared to his disobedience, or anything he cannot handle. He’s already had his paddling, so he’ll just be up here in some ice cold water. He doesn’t even think it that bad; cold water baths are apparently good for your skin according to some VOGUE magazine article he read a while ago and won’t shut up about,’ John rolled his eyes. Brian huffed out the smallest of a laugh, which his master took this as a sign to move on.

‘Come here. Give me a hug,’ John ordered - and before Brian knew it, his torso had already been enveloped by John’s arms, pulling him closer and wordlessly telling him all was over and done with. John’s clothed body was warm against his frozen one, and Brian nestled himself against it as if his life depended on it. He knew he was almost a head taller than John, but in moments like these, he felt really, _really_ small.

‘I’m so sorry, Master,’ Brian squeaked.

‘Stop saying that. You’ve done your sentence and I’m proud of you.’ John pulled away from him to have another look at him. Brian knew he looked utterly miserable and not at all very attractive with his dripping wet hair and red-rimmed eyes, but he nevertheless detected a hint of adoration in John’s eyes when his master gave his left cheek a comforting rub with his thumb. ‘Don’t beat yourself up over this, Brian. It’s all over and done with. Understood?’

‘Yes, Master,’ Brian allowed. Then, in a voice so soft that it surprised him Brian could hear it, he repeated: ‘Master?’

‘Yes, Baby?’

Brian shifted uncomfortably from one leg to the other. ‘I’m so _cold_,’ he whimpered. He was unsure what John was to do with this information - it was part of his punishment, after all - but the bassist was surprisingly supportive.

‘I know. Come, have my bathrobe and curl up on the sofa with a blanket. I don’t want you to catch a cold over this.’

Brian blinked at him. ‘I thought you said- that we couldn’t use any furniture this week. Or clothes, for that matter.’

‘I’ll make an exception for now,’ John said as he fetched his dark red bathrobe from the hook next to the shower cabin. ‘Don’t want you get ill over this. I couldn’t miss my only obedient slave in the Dungeon for the world.’

Brian stared at his feet as the lush fabric of the robe was pressed into his hands. ‘I think today showed that I’m not exactly obedient,’ he mumbled.

‘Well, you’ve never actively tried to provoke me, which is more than I can say of Bambi and Blondie,’ John snickered, habitually giving Brian’s bottom a smack with the palm of his hand. It was meant to be playful, but in the current situation, the movement brought tears to Brian’s eyes.

‘Ow!’ he yelped, face retorting in pain.

‘Sorry, I’m sorry, Brian, I forgot for a moment,’ John apologised. ‘Come on, let’s get you wrapped up and out of here. You’ve gone through enough for today,’ he said - the last statement of which lifted a huge weight of Brian’s shoulders. The deal - established before Freddie and he had snuck off to the bathroom and ended up in illicit businesses - was that they’d take a mere break from the Dungeon, and were to return afterwards. However, now that the events had taken a new and rather painful course, Brian had not much looked forward to getting tied up to the bed again for another session of torture. To hear his master tell him that this had been the last thing he would have to endure for the day came as a huge relief to Brian, who let John help him put on the bathrobe. He was ushered into the living room, where John helped him get down on his tummy on the sofa, supported by a few pillows, and switched on the TV for him.

‘Go sit on the sofa and watch some TV,’ John said, petting Brian’s wet curls. Then, raising his voice, he called out: ‘Once I’ve taught Freddie a lesson, I’ll be back to pick you up, Taylor.’

Brian had forgotten about Roger’s presence during his ordeal, but if the drummer had done as he had been told, he was still to be found headfirst over the kitchen table, the exact place he had been at when John had left him to come and check on his two slaves who had disappeared from their breakfast setting. Brian had no idea how much time had passed and how much time was still to be passed until Freddie had also been properly punished, but he had a feeling that all of this waiting was boring Roger right out of his mind.

‘Yes, Master,’ Roger nevertheless answered obediently, and John, with one more comforting glance at Brian, left the living room behind. It was only when everyone had left him that Brian allowed himself to properly slump down on the sofa and relax his tensed muscles. It was always after a session that he noticed how tense he had been, how cramped the muscles throughout his body were. Knowing that aftercare would come when everyone had been punished properly, and that this could easily be another hour or longer, Brian tried his hand at massaging the stiff muscles in his neck and shoulders himself. It wasn’t anywhere near perfect, but it did was better than waiting for his master to return and do it for him.

Brian opened his eyes when the sound of someone stumbling around in the hallway caught his attention. He heard the murmur of a conversation at the other side of the wall, followed by the opening of the door. Looking up, Brian saw John’s head peeking around the opening of it.

‘Brian? If you’re still awake, Freddie would like to ask you how you’re doing.’ The frontman was then carefully shoved into the small strip of space created between the door and the door hold, and he flashed Brian a toothy smile.

‘Hey, darling. Are you alright?’

‘I’m okay. Just a little sore,’ Brian said, sending a smile back to his fellow slave.

‘Only a little? Don’t let John hear it,’ Freddie grinned, but he yelped in uneasiness when he was punished for his cleverness by pinching his nipple painfully hard.

‘I’ll make sure you won’t be able to say you’re only a _little sore_ by the time I’m done with you,’ John told his oldest slave - who, however, was hardly paying attention when he noticed Roger’s head peeking over the table in the dining area.

‘Roger, dear!’ Freddie called, which made Roger turn up his head, and made John give Freddie a sharp tug at the leather collar around his neck.

‘Did I give you permission for that, Bambi?’

‘No, Master. But this is a matter of importance to all of us,’ Freddie stated solemnly. Seemingly interested to hear what Freddie’s unexpected claim was all about, John made no more objections when Freddie placed a step into the living room, and raised his voice to address Roger.

‘You were utterly wrong, Blondie,’ Freddie reprove him, and Roger lifted his head to look at him.

‘Wrong about what?’ he asked on behalf of what Brian expected was all three of them. The big grin on Freddie’s face should have betrayed what he was going to be talking about - yet to Brian the topic came as an utter surprise when it was introduced.

‘About saying that Brian would only need one drag of the tongue to be finished off at breakfast this morning. I’m sure I’ve sucked him at least _thrice_ before he gave in.’ There was a flavour of _gotcha!_ to be detected in Freddie’s voice - which made the colour drain from Brian’s face all the more and all the faster. With the help of John’s encouragement the guitarist was trying his best to leave the incident behind; but now they were here, all together in the living room, where Freddie triumphantly declared to everyone present exactly how often he’d had to take Brian into his mouth before he’d reached his peak. Brian wished he could disappear into thin air - especially when their master cleared his throat to obviously take control of the situation.

‘Of course he needed more than just one drag of the tongue. He’s a lot tougher than you guys might presume,’ John said. Then, turning to Brian with a somewhat wicked smile, he added: ‘More than that, this proves that you two lack self-awareness. Like, really? You seriously thought that your mediocre oral sex skills and embarrassing takes at foreplay could make _anyone_ come at once?’

‘Ouch,’ Freddie sucked in a breath of air between clenched teeth, and Roger similarly seemed momentarily humbled by his master’s reproof. Brian, on the other hand, had a hard time hiding his grin - especially when John grabbed Freddie by the upper arm and pulled him back into the hallway.

‘I’ll make you practice on the back of a broomstick for the rest of the week. Neither of your mouths are going to get anywhere near to Brian’s cock before you can deliver your promise of finishing him off with just one suck.’ John flashed a wink at a still somewhat fazed looking Brian, and then disappeared through the door with Freddie, leaving Brian on his own to catch his breath - hopefully in peace this time around.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please let me know in the comments what you thought about it, and if you've got any ideas for future scenes I'm very interested in hearing them!


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